Degrees Of Separation
by French Pony
Summary: The Fellowship is kidnapped by the only people really up to the job. An A of several related U's.
1. In Which Aragorn Finds Himself

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of J. R. R. Tolkien, nor any of the various dramatic incarnations thereof. No profit is being made from this work.

Greetings. In a moment, you will come to the story and, if all goes according to plan, begin reading. But first, while I have your attention, let me say a few words. First off, I must confess that I'm still somewhat undecided about this website, and that this story is something of an experiment. In addition, I tend towards the antisocial. What both of these factors mean for you, the reader, is that this may very well be the only time you'll hear from me until the story is over. It may not be; if I decide that things are going in such a direction, I might give brief notes after each chapter. But if you don't hear from me, please don't take it as an insult.

Second, a few notes about the story you are about to read. I was introduced to the works of J. R. R. Tolkien in perhaps the worst way possible: in a movie theater in 1987, in a foreign language, while still in grade school. It is a testament to the power of Tolkien's story that I fell in love with it even under those circumstances, and in fact went on to read the books (in English) upon coming back from the theater. 

Some readers (those old enough to know better) will guess right away who the mysterious kidnappers are. If you do guess, please don't tell anyone until the Fellowship figures it out for themselves. In the meantime, if you are so inclined and wish to follow all the connections as they are laid out, I heartily recommend poking around in the backwaters of the Internet Movie Database (www.imdb.com), where you can find the most amazing fun facts. If you'd like, I will add a list of references when the story is done so you can check back. This would be by request only, though.

That about wraps things up here. Exits are located in the BACK button of your browser. Should the cabin pressure in the story begin to drop, a plot hole will open above your head and oxygen masks will fall. Keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times, and enjoy the show!

In Which Aragorn Finds Himself

Aragorn was dimly aware of motion. The world swirled and tilted, and it took all the strength and fortitude he possessed not to fall off. He dared not open his eyes for fear of losing what little control he had left. The world felt wrong, somehow, and Aragorn did not feel himself ready to investigate. Far better to stay here, in the dark realm between sleep and wakefulness, where he spun lazily and listened to far-off voices.

"I am beginning to worry. He should have woken by now."

"Hmph. He will wake when he chooses to wake."

"Still, I worry. I dealt him a sharp blow to the head."

"Indeed you did, my friend. One of his dimensions is difficult to subdue. Still, take courage. You have not harmed him. I believe he is aware even now, and merely chooses not to wake fully to the light of day."

"The light of day? The light of our day, you mean. Perhaps it is for the best that he does not waken, then. You saw what became of the other."

Aragorn listened intently. Was this other one of the members of their company? Had he been unable to save them, then? Which one was this other, and what had become of him? A third voice, gruff but not unkind, entered the unseen conversation.

"He lives. I believe he will accustom himself to our world shortly. And I have finally managed to wash my helmet clean."

The first voice, a raspy tenor, chuckled. "That is good. We certainly would not wish for it to smell permanently of vomit."

"Agreed. And that is why I shall leave you to your own devices when this one wakes, my friend."

Heavy footsteps approached. A rough voice whispered. "Aragorn, they're at it again!"

He was needed. Aragorn's eyes snapped open, as the First Voice turned towards him. "I haven't time for this," it said. 

"Who is at it, what danger is this?" Aragorn asked, and winced as his eyes were assaulted by blinding swirls of color and light.

"Rest easy, friend," said the First Voice. "Your aid is not needed, even were you in a position to give it."

"He called for Aragorn," Aragorn said muzzily, shutting his eyes again. "I am Aragorn, so he must mean me."

"No. He meant me," the First Voice said gently. "I, too am Aragorn."

This was too much. Aragorn forced his eyes open a second time and stared into the face of the First Voice. It was a dark, battered face framed with lank black hair. The eyes, although weary, streamed kindness and wisdom. It would have been a face to be trusted, if there had not been something fundamentally wrong about it. It was too sharply defined, yet there was no depth to the face, no warmth to the skin. Aragorn had never seen anything like it in his long life. "You are Aragorn?" he asked. "Son of —"

"Son of Arathorn, yes," the figure replied. 

"But how can that be? I have never seen you before in my life."

"I do not doubt it. But I and my companions have seen a great deal of you."

"Your companions?" asked Aragorn. A terrible premonition came over him. "Four hobbits, a wizard, an elf, a dwarf, and a second Man?"

"Precisely," The second Aragorn smiled. He called over his shoulder. "You and your counterpart were correct, Mithrandir. He is as intelligent as I!"

There was a shuffling, and then two faces peered at Aragorn. One was the familiar seamed visage of Gandalf. The other. . . was not. His shadowed eyes burned and a long, sharp nose peeked out of an enormous mass of snow-white hair. He was attired similarly to Gandalf, in long robes, but they looked wrong, in the same way as the second Aragorn. They were flat and dull. Aragorn had difficult focusing on them. 

"Greetings, friend," the strange wizard said. "I am called by some Gandalf, although my colleague also lays claim to that name. Therefore, you may call me Mithrandir."

"Mithrandir," Aragorn repeated dully. He felt his gaze drawn inexorably back to the strange man who bore his name and claimed his ancestry. "This is not Middle Earth," he declared. 

"Correction," Gandalf said, also gazing at his double. "This is not our Middle Earth,"

Mithrandir smiled amidst his bushy whiskers. "Indeed. It is our Middle Earth."

The second Aragorn moved to stand by Mithrandir. "And you are our prisoners."


	2. In Which Aragorn Gets A New Perspective

****

In Which Aragorn Gets A New Perspective On Life

"Prisoners!" Aragorn reached for his sword and tried to sit up. The world tilted, and he fell back heavily. Gandalf was by his side in an instant. 

"Do not exert yourself overmuch," he said softly. "You must give your body time to adjust to these new surroundings."

"I wish to know what he meant by prisoners. Where are the others? Who are these strange folk that bear our names?"

Gandalf sighed. "I do not yet know," he said. "But my colleague and I were discussing that very question before you woke. I will find your answers, but you must be patient." Aragorn was not reassured. 

He was soon distracted as a shining figure scurried over to them. Squinting into the glow, Aragorn saw a spindly-looking being, all huge dark eyes and blond hair, dressed most impractically in blinding, billowing white. The being threw its hands in the air and began to complain in a high, quavering voice. "Oh dear, oh dear, Master L–"

"Legolas!" the second Aragorn barked sharply. The shining figure froze. "What have I told you? You are an Elf. You must keep yourself under control. This is not the time for hysterics."

The Elf creature dropped its hands suddenly. "Oh, no," it said. "Was I doing it again?"

"Yes."

"I am terribly sorry. He comes to me so suddenly sometimes."

The second Aragorn gave the Elf creature a reassuring smile. "I know. Try to hold on to yourself a little longer. Our plan is underway, and if all goes well, you will be yourself all the time without even having to try." He patted the dispirited Elf creature on the shoulder. "Go see to your counterpart. He'll want to try standing up soon, I don't doubt, and he'll need your help." The shining Elf creature nodded and walked away.

Aragorn stared after the departing figure. "Was that --?" he started to ask.

"An Elf, in a way," Gandalf sighed. "Something dreadful has happened. That poor soul is as much an Elf as your friend of the broken nose is a Man. I will say no more, for here I must leave certainty for speculation. I would suggest that you work on standing as soon as possible, for we will have need of your strength shortly." With that, he rose and walked away.

Aragorn looked to his left and saw that the sad Elf creature had pulled Legolas to his feet. The two Elves were staring at each other with naked amazement. They exchanged no words, but examined each other closely, Legolas using the other Elf as a sort of crutch as he struggled to regain control of his knees. He seemed to find something objectionable about this touch, and concentrated visibly on walking unassisted. The other Elf, for his part, gazed at Legolas with unashamed envy, occasionally daring to reach out and stroke the soft green tunic or eye the inlaid wooden bow. Legolas followed the other Elf's gaze. He locked his knees, reached behind his back, unhooked the bow, and handed it to the other Elf. The Elf took the bow reverently. He stroked the shining wood, marveled at the inlay, and drew the string back experimentally. He returned the bow with a small sigh, then bent down and offered his own for inspection.

Legolas stared at the thing. It was the same blinding white as the rest of the strange Elf's clothing, and rather heavy for its size. Most of the excess weight appeared to come from the large, coiled tips. It seemed to be a most impractical weapon. Legolas returned it with a look of sympathy. The other Elf shrugged apologetically. Aragorn had the distinct impression that a silent friendship of sorts had been forged.

"What'll we do about them, then?" A gruff voice barged into his reverie. Aragorn turned his head to the right. He had a brief glimpse of Gimli hauling himself upright before a pair of brown trousers planted themselves in his line of sight. Aragorn looked up. . . and up. . . and up. The tallest Dwarf he had ever seen gazed down at him. Well over five feet, unless Aragorn missed his guess, and somewhat delicately boned for a Dwarf, this figure struck him as the potential result of mating a Dwarf with a Man or an Elf. The tall Dwarf was looking worriedly at the other Aragorn and gesturing off behind a rock.

"Have they not sorted things out well enough yet?" the second Aragorn asked.

"No," answered the tall Dwarf. He pointed down at Aragorn. "Perhaps this one could be of some assistance."

"Perhaps," said the second Aragorn. He looked down. "Can you stand?" Aragorn nodded. Without a word, the other reached down and hauled him to his feet.

Aragorn immediately understood Legolas's need for a crutch. Standing was difficult in this place. He could not perceive depth, and he wobbled as he tried to adjust to this new lack of perspective. His double gently steered him over to a pile of Hobbits. 

There were eight of them, in various states of consciousness. Sam was leaning heavily on a short, squat figure who couldn't resist the impulse to fidget and fuss over his charge. The attention seemed to be irritating Sam, but as he was still working out how to stand unassisted, he put up with it. Frodo was still blessedly unconscious, and his childlike double lay quietly near him, snoring gently under a startling mop of chestnut hair and holding his hand. Merry and Pippin were awake, and had risen to their knees. Their two doubles ignored them, choosing instead to argue with each other.

"That one's mine!" said one with fair hair.

"Is not! You've got the other one!" the dark one replied.

"Gentlemen!" Aragorn said as firmly as he could. "What seems to be the problem?"

The two flat little Hobbits stared at him. He took a step back in surprise. Save that one was darker than the other, they were identical. The dark Hobbit took a step forward.

"Begging your pardon, sir, we couldn't agree which of them belonged to which of us," he explained.

"That is simple enough," said Aragorn. "This one is Meriadoc Brandybuck, and the one with the wool scarf is Peregrin Took."

"Oh, we figured that out well enough," the dark Hobbit said. "Our problem is that we've forgotten which one of us we are." He sighed, and a tear trickled down his companion's face. "They're lucky. They look different from each other, and they even have separate personalities. You can tell them apart instantly. I can't remember from one minute to the next whether I'm Merry or Pippin. It's a terrible way to live." He choked back a sob, and Aragorn felt his gut twist in sympathy. Bad as it was to see his own double standing before him, at least he knew who he was.

"Perhaps I can be of assistance." Boromir joined them, guided by a heavily bearded Man wearing a fur doublet and a horned helmet. "Identity problems are not new. . . to either of us," he said, nodding at his companion. They conferred briefly, then the Man in the horned helmet supported Boromir as he knelt in front of the two identical, confused Hobbits.

"I think you should have new names," he said. "All four of you can stay together, but you two must have something new, something of your own. You," he pointed at the dark Hobbit, "will be Perry. And you," he indicated the fair one, "shall be Mippin."

Aragorn was about to object to this wanton re-naming of strangers, but a squeal from Perry stopped him. Perry and Mippin stared at each other, shy, delighted smiles spreading across both broad Hobbit faces. Aragorn realized that this was the first time any of their strange, sad captors had smiled, and he quickly pinched the bridge of his nose to keep his own tears from coming.


	3. In Which Introductions Are Made, And An

****

In Which Introductions Are Made, And An Astonishing Story Is Told

Perry and Mippin, pleased as pleased with their new, unique names, paraded around the small camp and proudly introduced themselves to everyone. They gave full credit for their new identities to Boromir, and the son of Denethor blushed a furious crimson as his bearded counterpart laughed. After having shaken Gimli's hand, the two flat Hobbits marched over to where Frodo and his double lay unmoving.

"Frodo! Frodo!" they called. Neither Frodo responded. Sam pulled away from his double and collapsed to his knees between the two Ring-bearers, frantically shaking first one, then the other.

"Aragorn! Gandalf! Help me!" Sam called in a panic. "It's Mr. Frodo, sirs. He's not waking up!" Aragorn knelt by the Frodo he knew, bent down and listened for a breath.

"Frodo lives," Aragorn reported. "As does the other, I surmise. Why they do not respond, I do not know."

"It was our doing," Mithrandir said. "Mine and Gandalf's. Both Frodos are under a spell of deep sleep. They live, but they will remain asleep until both of us choose to wake them."

"What on Earth did you go an' do that for?" wailed the tiny Hobbit who had been propping Sam up. "Look at em, all asleep an' defenseless, an' —" the thought was clearly too much for the small, flat Sam to contemplate, and he threw himself into the larger Sam's arms and sobbed.

"Peace, Little Sam," Mithrandir said. "It was regrettable, but necessary. Each Frodo bears a Ring of Power. Gandalf and I feared the consequences should both Ring-bearers be conscious and the Rings active. Together, we constructed a spell that temporarily bound the Rings to the minds of their bearers and sent the bearers themselves deep into the realm of dreams. They will remain unharmed, and we will awaken them when we have found a way to limit the doubled power of the Rings."

"Well," Sam sighed, "as long as they do remain unharmed, it's all right, I suppose. Did you hear that, Little Sam? Your master and mine, they're as safe from each other as they can be." Little Sam's sobs slowed, and he turned around and fixed both wizards with a piercing glare.

"As long as it's the truth you're tellin'," he muttered.

Pippin carefully walked over and knelt down by Sam. "Why do you call him Little Sam?" he asked.

Sam smiled. "He's little, ain't he? Littler than I, at any rate. And it seems his name is Samwise, same as me."

"We all share names," the second Aragorn said. "But I think this state of affairs cannot continue much longer. We brought you to this land without your knowledge or consent; we will take other names, that we may distinguish ourselves one from another. Gandalf and Mithrandir have chosen their names, and Perry and Mippin have new ones. Sam and Little Sam are also spoken for. You may call me Strider, I think. I was always fond of that name."

"I'll be Greenleaf," volunteered the white Elf. "Though I admit there's not much green about me, oh dear, more's the pity —"

The tall Dwarf beside Gimli smacked Greenleaf into silence. "I wish to be known as Timkin Rumbleguts," he said. Everyone turned and stared. "I read it in a Terry Pratchett novel, if you must know," the Dwarf said indignantly. Strider sighed and rolled his eyes. 

"All right, Timkin Rumbleguts it is," he said. Then he turned to the bearded man with the horned helmet. "What of you? What name will you take?"

Boromir's double gazed at Strider with an odd, unreadable expression on his face. "I think you know already," he said.

Strider's brow furrowed for a moment, then comprehension dawned. He raised his eyebrows, and Boromir's double nodded at him.

"Bigwig," they chorused. Strider shook his head slowly.

"I had nearly forgotten," he said. "Very well. You are Bigwig."

Gandalf nodded. "Well then," he said, "I think we have cleared up all the names that would trouble us for the moment. The Ring-bearers we shall leave for now. It is time for answers. Where are we, who are you, and what do you want with us?" He turned to the nearest of their captors. "Mithrandir, what have you to say for yourself?"

The pointy-nosed wizard harrumphed. "Let us be seated," he began. "This is not a simple tale to tell. I am aware that our guests are only now regaining the use of their legs, but I believe it would be better if we were all sitting." Both Companies seated themselves obediently. Mithrandir stood and faced them.

"You are in Middle Earth," he began, "very near the mines of Moria, to be precise. What is the last thing any of you remember?"

Eyes flashed around the circle. Finally, Legolas spoke up. "We had just come down off of Caradhras. I was the rearguard. I heard Boromir and Gimli shouting, and I saw the others sliding forward. There was a hole in the air. I remember no more."

"This doesn't look a bit like Middle Earth!" Pippin huffed. 

"How would you know?" Merry asked him. "You've never been outside the Shire before. Maybe there really are places in the world that look like this." The two young Hobbits shuddered at the foggy flatness of the landscape around them. Parts of it seemed as dead and lifeless as their captors, while parts glowed with an oily voluptuousness. None of the parts were truly convincing as the rocky trail they purported to be.

"You are partially correct, young Pippin," Mithrandir said. "This is not the Middle Earth you know. Nevertheless, you are in Middle Earth, and precisely where you left it — at the foothills of Caradhras."

"Do you mean to say that this is a different Middle Earth?" Gimli asked.

"That is precisely what I mean to say," Mithrandir replied. "It is difficult for you to stand and walk in our world because it is different from yours. Yours is the world of live action and three dimensions. Ours is a world of two-dimensional animation, both pure and rotoscoped, save for certain parts of Bree and Rohan, which are merely painted-over high-contrast photography."

"You would like those lands, I think," Bigwig said thoughtfully.

"What are you saying, Mithrandir?" asked Aragorn, beginning to sweat a little.

"We are an older, more primitive permutation of your tale," said Mithrandir. "We have inhabited this strange land since 1978, reviled by all save small children who do not know any better for our shoddy animation and butchered characters."

"Some of us have escaped from time to time," Strider said. "Bigwig and I spent time in the meadows of Watership Down, and Greenleaf — ai, poor Greenleaf! He has never quite been the same since he fled for the vastness of that galaxy far, far away. We do not know what befell him there, as he will not say, but oftentimes he is haunted by the ghosts."

"Come now, that is most certainly not fair, Master Lu — Strider! Strider" Greenleaf finished with a shriek as Timkin Rumbleguts began to finger his axe meaningfully.

"However, most of us remain trapped," Mithrandir continued. "We are doomed to wander this world, moving between dimensions and animation styles, with the threat of the Ring and the special effects it induces ever present. Some of us despaired; others went mad. Timkin appears to have survived by reading Terry Pratchett obsessively. Finally, we nine, by dint of much effort and toil, discovered the key to our doom, and it is this. Our story was never finished. For decades, we have been left hanging, with no resolution to our tale in sight. The eternal question hung over our heads. What happened next? We made the decision to act. We came to this point, where we were all together in the open air, and I crafted the spell that brought our later incarnations to our world. We need you desperately. You must tell us how our story ends, or we will die!"


	4. In Which There Is Crushing Disappointmen...

****

In Which There Is Crushing Disappointment, Hair-Raising Adventure, And Calculated Risk

There was a moment of silence following Mithrandir's speech. The live-action Fellowship looked at one another, trying to decide who would be the first to speak. After an awkward pause, Boromir cleared his throat.

"I'm sure I don't know," he said. "I die at the end of the first movie. Heroically trying to save Merry and Pippin and all that."

"How many arrows?" Bigwig asked.

"Three."

"Lucky bastard. I must have had half a dozen at least. And I pulled some out, too."

"But they're big ones. Nearly two feet long, thick as my thumb."

"Oh, well, that's different," Bigwig said. The two moved off to the side a little and commenced a lively discussion on techniques of orc-fighting. The others stared after them.

"He. . . dies?" Pippin asked, stunned.

"Yes," Merry answered. "I'm starting to see it all now in my mind. Fuzzy it is, like memory. Only, it's a memory that hasn't happened yet. Or something. And there's other things, too. Trees and such. This is very odd. Do you feel it, Pip?"

Pippin thought for a moment, then winced. "There's a big hot fiery thing," he said. "It's right strange to be remembering what hasn't happened yet."

"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, this is just terrible, we should never have brought them here, they're going to go absolutely mad, just plain potty, and it'll be all our fault!" Greenleaf cried, jumping out of Legolas and Timkin's attempts to restrain him. "It's our world that's doing it to them! They're not in their own time, they're remembering forward, that's never healthy for mortals, we found them too soon, oh dear, this is never going to —" his last words ended in a squeak as Strider wrestled him to the ground and sat on him.

Mithrandir looked around, worried. For all of his shouting, Greenleaf did have a point. Something had gone wrong with the timing of the spell. He cast about for the least boggled of the live-action Fellowship. "Sam! What is the absolutely latest thing you remember?" he asked. "Backwards or forwards?"

Sam wrinkled up his brow in thought. "Faramir. . . Gollum. . . Mr. Frodo walking towards that flying beastie. . . walking through the woods. . . that's all, Mr. Mithrandir, sir."

"I was on a horse with Legolas. Gandalf and Éomer and Aragorn were beside us," Gimli said thoughtfully. Mithrandir glanced over at Aragorn.

"When was this?" he asked.

"Arwen. . . your lovely dark hair. . . your wide mouth. . . a gratuitous tit shot. . . " Aragorn murmured, lost in the reverie of forward memory.

"It's affecting his mind, too," Gandalf said sadly.

"Who is Arwen?" Strider asked, climbing off a subdued Greenleaf.

"His one true love," Gandalf said, waving a hand in Aragorn's direction.

"Yet another of the joys denied you by our slipshod story editing, it seems," Mithrandir said. Strider moved to kneel by Aragorn and listened hungrily to the bits of description trickling from the besotted Ranger's mouth. The two wizards looked at each other.

"Blast!" Mithrandir swore. "I was certain we'd got it right. Gandalf, where did I go wrong? You were to tell the whole story, were you not?"

"Yes," Gandalf said. "But we were to do it in installments. You pulled us out before we had come through the first part. Our forward memories take us nearly to the end of the second part and no further. I believe you would have done better to have waited a year for us to conclude the tale. We have not yet lived it and cannot tell you the end."

"It does appear that I acted in haste," Mithrandir conceded. "However, we were becoming desperate. We had tried once before and failed."

Gandalf raised one bushy eyebrow. "You tried once before? Where did you look"

Strider tore himself away from Aragorn's increasingly bawdy ramblings and glanced over at the wizards. "It was my suggestion," he said. "The end of the story had been done as animation before. I had spent some time in the land of Prydain and had become acquainted with the wizard from the third part in an alternate guise. Not long ago, we attempted a sortie into the third part. I felt that the transition from animation to rotoscoping would not cause anyone from the third part undue harm."

"What happened?" Gandalf asked.

"We were met by a force beyond our strength and driven out," Strider said sadly. 

"Disco-dancing orcs singing Where There's A Whip There's A Way' is not a sight fit to be seen by mortal Men," Mithrandir clarified. 

Everyone contemplated this image for a moment. Perry and Mippin clung to each other out of sheer horror, and Little Sam curled up in a ball and rocked.

"What are you going to do, then?" Sam asked, patting Little Sam's shoulder.

Mithrandir heaved a heavy sigh. "I do not know," he said, softly. 

At that moment, the live-action Frodo stirred in his magically induced sleep. "Bil-bo. . . " he muttered.

"Bil-bo," echoed the other Frodo.

"Mithrandir! They are stirring!" called Timkin.

"Come, Gandalf." Mithrandir said. "We may have to renew the spell. The Rings must on no account be allowed to interact."

"Is it wise to keep them asleep for so long?" Gandalf asked. "It is true that the Rings present a danger, but the danger of lengthy induced sleep on the bearers may be greater. Perhaps it would be wise to let them wake."

"But the Rings?"

Gandalf wrinkled his nose in deep thought. "I have thought of an alternate plan," he said slowly. "This plan is not without its own peril, however. I propose that you and I, Mithrandir, take the Rings for safekeeping, while both Bearers are awake."

"Are you mad?" Mithrandir asked. "You cannot touch the Ring any more than I!"

"You cannot touch the animated Ring," Gandalf said, "and I cannot touch the live-action one. But perhaps we could each handle the other Ring safely for a time."

Mithrandir thought about this. "It is indeed a risky plan," he said. "But in desperate times, desperate measures often work. We will try your plan, Gandalf."

"I will go first," Gandalf said, moving to the sleeping Frodos. "I will take the animated Ring. If anything. . . untoward. . . should happen, send the others back immediately, then cast me into the void." Mithrandir nodded and held his staff ready.

Slowly, Gandalf approached the rotoscoped Ring-bearer. He gently turned the small Hobbit onto his back and carefully lifted the cord with the Ring over the abundant chestnut hair. No one dared breathe as he tucked the two-dimensional trinket into a pocket in his robe.


	5. In Which The Key To The Puzzle Is Discov...

****

In Which The Key To The Puzzle Is Discovered By Unexpected Means

Fifteen pairs of eyes watched Gandalf as he stood. He patted the pocket where he had put the animated Ring, and he took a few experimental steps.

"I am fine," he declared at last. "I can feel this Ring's attempts to gain a foothold in my mind, but it was never designed to affect a being such as myself. I believe my plan will work, at least for a time. Mithrandir, you may take the other Ring."

Mithrandir stooped to the live-action Frodo and cautiously removed the small Ring. He put it into his own pocket and grimaced. "I understand your caution, Gandalf," he said. "I, too, can feel the attempts of this Ring, but I believe that I am safe as well, for the time being. Let us awaken the Ring-bearers quickly, then, and we will proceed from there."

The wizards bent down and began a complex spell. Its harmonies rose and fell for a few minutes. Slowly, the two Hobbits on the ground began to stir and stretch. The animated Frodo woke first, blinking his overlarge eyes. He stared at the two wizards. "It worked," he murmured sleepily.

"Not quite," Strider whispered softly. "We will explain all once your counterpart awakens."

"I was having such a lovely dream. It was about the Shire and — and Bilbo was there."

"I'm sure. But you are needed now back in the world."

The animated Frodo scrubbed at his eyes with a rotoscoped hand and turned towards the wizards, who were working together on his counterpart. Blue eyes blinked open, squeezed shut, then squinted open again. The three-dimensional brain shook off sleep only to find itself in a dreamlike two-dimensional world. The Hobbit's mind boggled with the effort to see. Gandalf slipped an arm under his shoulders and helped him to sit.

"Welcome back, Frodo," he said. 

"Where am I, Gandalf?" Frodo asked. "What is this place? It looks so strange? Where are the others? Are they all right?" A distinct emptiness made itself felt in his soul. "Oh, no! Where is--?"

"Peace," Gandalf interrupted. "There is someone you must meet first." He motioned with his hand, and the animated Ring-bearer stepped forward. The two Frodos stared at each other. Gandalf laid a hand unflinchingly on the rotoscoped shoulder. "This," he said, "is Mr. Underhill. Mr. Underhill, may I present the redoubtable Frodo Baggins."

"Charmed," Mr. Underhill said. 

Frodo fished around under his shirt and frowned at Gandalf. Gandalf flashed a significant look at Mithrandir. "We have the Rings for safekeeping, Frodo," Gandalf explained. "He has your Ring, and I have that carried by Mr. Underhill. It would be dangerous for the two Rings to meet unshielded, so we thought to keep them apart and inactive. In part, that was why we made the two of you sleep for so long, until we sorted things out."

"I don't understand," Frodo said. "Where are we, exactly? And why are there suddenly two of me? Did it happen to the others as well?"

Sam knelt beside his master. "We seem to me in — in another version of Middle Earth," he said haltingly. "These people here, they're us, only they're not us, if you see what I mean. They're us in this Middle Earth, the same way we're us in our Middle Earth. We've all got our doubles. Mine's over there," he said, gesturing. Frodo looked over and saw Little Sam fussing and squirming and patting Mr. Underhill's hand with puppyish pleasure.

"An alternate version of our tale?" he said thoughtfully. 

"Aye," Strider said. "Well-intentioned, but poorly executed. And, worst of all, never finished. We had hoped you might be able to shed some light on our predicament, but it appears that you have not finished your tale yet."

"So there's no hope for us at all," Mippin wailed. "Perry and me'll be trapped forever here with only each other to talk to all day, and when you're identical, even that's no fun." He curled up in a ball and began to cry. Perry tried vainly to avoid looking at his cousin, but soon found himself sniffling. The others stared awkwardly for a moment. Finally, Legolas scooped Mippin into his arms in one efficient movement. He stroked the Hobbit's hair and murmured soothing little noises, and Mippin's wails began to subside. 

Frodo gazed thoughtfully into the middle distance. "Do you know," he said to no one in particular, "this is very much like one of the tales that Bilbo used to tell."

"You mean like one of his adventures with the dragon?" Merry asked.

"Well, no, not really," Frodo said. "At least, I don't think so. It was just that at times, he'd get rather an odd look on his face, and he'd start telling me snippets of tales. They always sounded like old tales, with lovely rich-sounding names in them and heroic deeds, but whenever I asked about them, he said they hadn't happened yet."

Bigwig suddenly looked up, with a fresh gleam in his eye. "Might I ask, what sorts of names and deeds did your Bilbo mention?"

"He told of a fair lady called Éowyn who fought a brave battle. He spoke of the doom of one Denethor and the deeds of Denethor's son Faramir —"

"–who was nearly burned to death by his grief-stricken father, but who recovered to wed the lady Éowyn, yes?" Bigwig asked.

"Why, yes," Frodo said. "I do think that was the tale that Bilbo told. How do you know of it?"

"Denethor is my father. Faramir is my brother. I had to know. . . " Bigwig's voice trailed off as he became aware that the others were watching him hungrily. "It was not more than a year or two after we were abandoned. I was casting about madly, for it was becoming clear to me then that, in addition to dying at the hands of foul orcs, I would never know the fate of the Ring or of my own family. I wandered far, searching for that which would help me."

"Well do I remember that," Greenleaf said quietly. "For it was about that time that I returned to the galaxy far, far away, feeling once again the pull of The Thing upon me."

"I wandered far," Bigwig said. "And eventually I stumbled upon yet another Middle Earth."

"Not the one where we were so mercilessly driven back?" Strider asked.

"No, for there were no singing orcs," Bigwig said. "There was nothing at all but sound. Can you imagine, an entire world made of nothing but sound!"

Frodo sat up a little straighter. "Bilbo sometimes spoke of the world without sight," he said. "I always thought he was referring to Gollum's cave."

"Nay," Bigwig said, "for I have been there, too. Once again, I was killed, though less painfully, it seemed to me. But here is something strange. After my death, but before my return to this place, I had a talk with a Hobbit. I never saw him, but I knew his voice. He had been a Ring-bearer. I begged him for news of my family. There was no time for more, as I was already fading from that world, but before we were parted completely, this Hobbit told me briefly what became of my father and brother. Then I returned here."

"Aye," rumbled Timkin. "I remember it well. You returned strangely calm, yet you would not tell us what had befallen you on your journey."

"It would have been of no use to you. I never knew the whole tale, for we were parted before the Hobbit could tell me."

"Bilbo told me of that world, I think," Frodo said. "He talked about having been a Ring-bearer. I thought it strange at the time, for he still had the Ring in his possession when he spoke of it."

"What do you make of this tale?" Boromir asked, fascinated.

"The Bilbo that this Ring-bearer speaks of," said Bigwig excitedly. "I believe he is the Hobbit that I met in the world without sight. He knows the end of the tale. I had long believed that he might tell me if I asked him, but I knew not where to find him. And now, into our grasp, comes the key to the puzzle. Frodo knows where he is."


	6. In Which A Decision Is Made

****

In Which A Decision Is Made, A Journey Is Begun, And Apples Are Eaten

"Do you mean to say that dear old Bilbo carries the solution to your problems?" Frodo asked. "My cousin Bilbo, sitting in Rivendell writing his book?"

Gandalf's eyes twinkled. "It looks as if that is exactly the case," he said.

Perry ran over and hugged Legolas and Mippin. "Then the spell wasn't worthless after all!" he cried. "We'll find our answers yet, Mippin, you'll see! And then we'll know who we are for good!"

"Really?" Mippin sniffled.

"Really," Perry assured him.

"Would that Mr. Bilbo help, do you think?" asked Little Sam. "It's no use us getting all worked up till he's said yes."

"He's got a good heart," Frodo said. "I can't imagine he'd say no. Especially if Bigwig were there."

"The only way to find out is to ask him," Aragorn said firmly. "We must find him."

Merry laughed. "That's easy. We know where he is. Gandalf and Mithrandir can say their spell to bring him here."

Mithrandir frowned. "It is not so easily done," he said. "Travel between worlds is difficult enough without forcing a trip through geography as well."

"Can we get to him at all from here?" Gimli asked.

"Yes," Mithrandir said. "We must return to Rivendell — our Rivendell — and cast the spell from there. It will be a difficult journey. Wolves and other unpleasant things will be guarding the way back."

Aragorn smiled. "But you have twice the warriors in your company as you did when you set out," he said. "And our Hobbits are not entirely useless with their knives, either."

"Will you come with us, then?" asked Strider. "Will you aid us in our quest? We will need you, I think, to communicate with this Bilbo when he is found."

"Now that we have seen your plight, our hearts give us little choice but to aid you," Aragorn told his double softly. "Now, let us be off. The road grows no shorter by waiting." 

It was roughly an hour later when they finally did move out. Strider and Mithrandir had plotted a course for them through the foothills of the Misty Mountains. The Hobbits kept together in a pack in the middle of the group. Mithrandir and Strider went ahead, and Gandalf stayed in the rear with the two Elves, so as to keep the two Rings physically as far apart as possible. 

Both Frodo and Mr. Underhill had expressed some reservations about leaving their burdens in the hands of an alien wizard, but an incident shortly after they were underway had silenced them. Mithrandir, feeling that Strider could guide the group to the foothills perfectly well on his own, had dropped back to discuss with Gandalf how best to locate and bring Bilbo to them quickly and efficiently. As the two wizards huddled in conference, the rotoscoped Ring had shifted in Gandalf's pocket. Perhaps it sensed the presence of its counterpart, perhaps it simply sensed the opportunity for mischief.

The sky and the land had vanished abruptly, and the united companies had found themselves seemingly standing in thin air. Mist and brilliant blue lights had swirled around their feet, and lightning flashed negative coloring around the landscape. The live-action members of the party were completely disoriented, and even the animated ones had difficulty remaining on their feet. 

Fortunately, Mithrandir was experienced with both Rings of Power and psychedelic special effects and had removed himself from Gandalf's vicinity quickly. Now, whenever he felt the need to communicate with the other wizard, he would call the nearest member of the combined company to convey the message.

It was occasionally difficult to estimate the time, as the lighting was not at all what Aragorn was used to, but it seemed to him that they had been walking for merely a day when the foothills hove into view. Strider declared that they would make camp then and tackle the foothills the next morning. All eight Hobbits seemed pleased by this announcement, especially Little Sam. Being so much shorter than the other seven Hobbits, he was constantly running to keep up. As the group settled down, making themselves comfortable, the Hobbits delved into their combined packs to provide a meal. 

Little Sam dug in his pack, produced a shiny apple, and handed it to Frodo with a flourish. Frodo reached out for the apple and missed. He glanced at Aragorn in confusion. Aragorn considered the problem for a moment. 

"I think this is related to the difficulties we have had walking through this landscape," he said finally. "It is hard for us to move because there is no depth for us to perceive here." 

Frodo squinted carefully at the apple, reached again and missed.

"You were closer that time," Aragorn said. Then a thought struck him. "Close one eye and take the apple," he told Frodo. "Often I have seen men who have lost an eye in battle, and they have reported that their ability to see depth is forever hindered by this. Your problem lies in your ability to see depth, which is not needed here."

Frodo winked one eye closed and reached for the apple a third time. His fingers closed around it, and Little Sam cheered and clapped his hands. Frodo inspected the animated fruit. It had a dull reddish-brown sheen to it and seemed rather less than substantial in those places where it could not be seen, but it had a pleasimg scent and, on the whole, seemed real enough to eat. He took a cautious bite. Aragorn watched him closely. "It's real," Frodo said finally. "It's not as substantial as I should care for, but I imagine it would sustain me well enough."

"Then you round folk can eat our food," Little Sam said happily. "I'd been wondering about that. I think we'd better provide meals for all, then."

Aragorn frowned. "We could not eat so much of your provisions," he said. "You would have much less for yourselves, then."

"But we're going back to our Rivendell," Little Sam explained. "Surely Lord Elrond will replace any food that you've eaten. But you'll need all of your food for when you get back to your own world."

Aragorn had to concede the logic of the offer, and accepted gratefully. The two companies sat down to share a meal, the live-action ones quickly learning to shut one eye when they wished to grasp anything. The animated Fellowship was attentive to this handicap, offering their counterparts assistance when needed. Eventually, everyone got some food inside of them.

As the meal was winding to a close, Greenleaf suddenly sat up straighter. A hush fell over the group. "There's something out there," Greenleaf murmured to Legolas. "Do you feel it, too?"

Legolas thought for a moment, then nodded. "There is a threat," he said, "but what it is, I cannot say."

"Weapons!" Strider barked. The group scrambled to its feet and formed a circle, bows, axes and swords pointing out into the night. The sky darkened suddenly, and terribly real shadows began to lower.

"What is going on?" Gimli asked. 

"Orcs!" Timkin replied. "They are the most fearsome of our enemies, for they are not like us. They are done by high-contrast photography painted over most dreadfully. They are most difficult to kill with our rotoscoped weapons."

Gimli smiled fiercely. "Then it is good that you have us at your side, then," he said. "We will be more of a match for them than they expect."

Frodo's last thought before the Orcs were upon them was a fervent hope that Gimli was right. 


	7. In Which Orcs Are Fought

****

In Which Orcs Are Fought And The Excruciating Beauty Of Rivendell Is Endured

"AAIEEE!"

The battle cry of the Orcs was short, highly pitched, and to the point, as was the battle that followed it. The Orcs were indeed three-dimensional, and had long enjoyed a certain natural resistance to the effects of animated weaponry. The rotoscoped Fellowship fought valiantly against them, but it seemed that two or three blows from their weapons were needed to cut through the mass of their attackers. The Orcs used their weight to their advantage, shoving their two-dimensional foes into each other, fighting with the effects of chaos and confusion as much as with their weapons. 

However, the Orcs had long since become accustomed to this method of fighting, and were thus completely unprepared for an assault by the live-action Fellowship. Once they had fully grasped that these Orcs were in fact as live-action as themselves, merely painted to look animated, they dived into the fray. Their weapons had heft and edge the like of which the Orcs had long forgotten. At first, the Orcs used their time-tested battle technique of shoving, fully expecting to retain the advantage of superior weight and mass. They were sorely mistaken. Not only were these new foes solid enough to resist them, but they carried real weapons capable of killing with a single well-placed blow.

The Orcs were not entirely stupid, and most likely could have formed an effective counter-strategy had they all simultaneously understood the change in circumstances. However, as each Orc received the lesson individually at the business end of arrow, axe or sword, there was no time for general knowledge to spread throughout the horde. They died quickly, but in a state of enlightenment.

"You fight with the strength of seven men!" Bigwig gasped, when it was over.

"No. I fight with the density of one," Boromir replied.

"In my travels through the worlds, I believe I once heard an appropriate phrase," Strider said. He turned to the corpse of the nearest Orc. "Go pick on someone your own size."

"I think our counterparts did quite well," Gimli said staunchly, gazing up at Timkin. "For them to hold out against hordes of these things for so many years, well, that takes some courage."

"Gentlemen," Aragorn said. "We have a mission to accomplish. I suggest we find a new campsite away from this carrion and rest for our march tomorrow."

As it turned out, the trip between Caradhras and Rivendell was not so long as Aragorn feared. It seemed to him to have taken but a few days, although he did not trust himself to say exactly how many. This inability to count time nagged at him, and when Rivendell came into view much earlier than he had anticipated, he took the next rest to ask Strider about it.

"How many days would you say we have just traveled?" he asked.

Strider thought for a while. "A week, perhaps?" he guessed. "The distance varies."

"How can it do that?" Aragorn asked, astonished.

Strider smiled a small, tight smile. "Editing," he said. "We were never told how long the journey lasted, moving straight from the Council of Elrond to a blinding snowstorm on Caradhras. Every time I make the journey back, which admittedly is not often, it takes a different amount of time."

"Straight into a blinding snowstorm?" Aragorn asked. "That cannot be."

"I wish it hadn't been," Strider answered. "At least Bigwig and I could have obtained trousers before we left."

Aragorn winced as he looked at Strider's bare legs. He had noticed that Strider and Bigwig both wore only short tunics and boots, leaving their legs horribly exposed to the elements. "Why do you not get trousers on one of your return trips to Rivendell?" he asked. 

"It would do no good. They only thing they know how to make in Rivendell are Elven tights such as Greenleaf wears. I would go off and join Aruman's Glee Club Of Isengard before I pranced around in a set of those. You'll see when we get to Rivendell."

"Why? Is not Rivendell a place of light and beauty?" Aragorn asked.

"In a way. It is also a most disconcerting place, as you will discover shortly."

As they marched down into the valley, Aragorn noticed that the colors around them were changing. The sky seemed bluer, the trees greener, the light more golden. Everything seemed lovelier and more vibrant. It seemed to be everything a haven established by a powerful Elf-lord ought to be.

"What a beautiful valley," Sam said. 

"Do not speak too hastily," Timkin growled. "You are still on the outskirts." 

"What a people you Dwarves are," said Greenleaf. "The beauty of the world is all around you, and you cannot even appreciate it."

"It would be easier to appreciate it if we could see it properly," Timkin replied. 

Indeed, the further they went into the valley, the stranger the colors began to appear. No longer merely lush and vibrant, they were now violently, almost unbearably bright. All of the live-action members of the party, including Legolas, squinted desperately to cut the glare. The colors began to bleed into each other and take on an eerie translucency. Small globs of unattached color began to float before their eyes.

"This," said Greenleaf sadly, "is the magic of the Elves of this world."

"Is it like this in all the lands of the Elves?" gasped Legolas.

"No," Greenleaf said. "Lothlórien has it worse. The Lady Galadriel has been saddled with a choir of castrati."

Legolas considered this. "Ouch," he said finally.

"You don't know the half of it," Strider said quietly. "Mithrandir! Can we not work the spell to summon Bilbo from this garden?"

Mithrandir looked around him. "Perhaps," he said. "Yes, I think we are far enough into the valley that the distance between wherever in the Last Homely House Bilbo is and here will not be too taxing for a Hobbit of his years."

"What must we do to prepare?" Gandalf asked.

"Simply clear a space for Bilbo to arrive," Mithrandir said. "And it might be best if Frodo waited by my side to greet him. Best to see a familiar face, I think." Frodo moved to Mithrandir's side and the others stood at a respectful distance as Mithrandir began a complex spell of Summoning.

With a strange violet shimmer, the air began to split apart. Through a hole in reality, Frodo could see Bilbo's room in Rivendell. The old Hobbit was pacing the floor, quill pen in hand. A wind began to blow through the room. Bilbo made a desperate grab for the bedpost, but was too late. The force of the spell swept him off his feet and hurled him through the air to the split between worlds. With a shimmer of light, he went through and landed in a small, unconscious heap at Mithrandir's feet. 


	8. In Which Memory Is Awakened

****

In Which Memory Is Awakened, And Salvation Is Confronted

For a moment, no one dared to breathe. The hole in the air closed silently, as if it had never been. Frodo and Mithrandir knelt down next to Bilbo. Frodo took one of the old Hobbit's hands, and Mithrandir felt at his throat.

"He lives," the wizard said, and a sigh of relief went through the group. "We must now wait for him to recover from his journey."

"It won't be long now, Mippin," Perry assured his cousin.

The wait seemed to be the most trying time any of them had ever experienced. There was nothing to do but sit in the garden, as no one wanted to miss the moment when Bilbo awoke. Greenleaf attempted to take Legolas on a tour of the garden, but the live-action Elf's eyes began to water from the assault of color and light, and both Elves soon returned to sit with the rest of the group. Gimli dampened a rag and applied it to Legolas's eyes, while Timkin muttered something about negative paintings. 

Boromir and Bigwig, who had become fast friends, became deeply involved in a discussion of horn calls. Bigwig knew two different calls, but conceded that Boromir could get better volume and carrying range from his instrument. Boromir asked for a demonstration. Bigwig thought for a moment, then blew a surprisingly complex five-note melody.

The noise seemed to startle Bilbo awake. "Wha — where — the horn of Boromir!" he cried, his eyes springing open and staring into Frodo's. "Who are you?"

"It's Frodo, Bilbo dear," Frodo said softly. "Don't you remember?"

"Frodo. Yes, Frodo. Yes. You're Frodo. And I'm Bilbo," the old Hobbit muttered, as he began to collect himself. Gandalf and Mithrandir, keeping a respectful distance from each other, both bent down and peered at Bilbo, who goggled at them. "Gracious me!" he said. "I must have fallen and hit my head, for it seems I'm seeing double." He squinted from one wizard to the other. "No, not double. Once and a half, more likely. What have you done to yourself this time, Gandalf, old friend?"

"Nothing, my good Hobbit," Gandalf said, smiling. "There are in fact two of us. This is Mithrandir. He and his company have undertaken an extraordinary quest, simply for the purpose of meeting you."

"Mithrandir, hm? Well, well, pleasant to meet you, I'm sure. Er. . . what's this about a company? The last company I heard of was that little group that Elrond assembled to keep an eye on Frodo. He's here. Where are they, now, I wonder?"

"Shield your eyes," Gandalf cautioned. "The light is different here than what you are accustomed to, but if you can manage to sit, Mithrandir and his company will present themselves."

Bilbo squinted, but managed to wriggle himself into a sitting position. The riot of color seemed to disconcert him, but eventually he managed to focus on Mithrandir. The rotoscoped wizard smiled at the elderly Hobbit.

"May I present my company," he said. "This is Strider, and next to him is Mr. Underhill. Behind them is Little Sam, and. . .er. . . those two over there are Mippin and Perry, one or the other, I am not precisely certain which. Yes. That is the Elf Greenleaf and . . . where is that Dwarf?"

Timkin rose from the hollow where he had been sitting and bowed. "Timkin Rumbleguts, at your service," he said.

"At yours and your family's," Bilbo said absently, craning his neck up at the towering Dwarf. 

Mithrandir took a deep breath. "And finally, may I present Bigwig, warrior of Gondor," he said, beckoning Bigwig over to where Bilbo sat.

Bigwig covered the distance in two strides and knelt down in front of Bilbo. "It is an honor and a pleasure to see you, Fr — Bilbo," he said.

Bilbo cocked his head to one side uncertainly. "Here, your voice sounds familiar," he said. "Do I know you? Have we met before? It seems I know your voice, but I can't place it. Perhaps I heard it in a dream sometime."

"You have heard my voice before. It was no dream," Bigwig said. "Just before we parted last, you told me of the fates of my father —"

" — and your brother. I think I remember that. You were so earnest, so straightforward about that. . . was that really you, then?"

"It was. A long time ago, in another world, a world without sight. Through all the years, I have never forgotten it. That memory has sustained me even until this day. You must remember it."

"The world without sight," Bilbo said dreamily. "Yes, it is all coming back to me now. I had nearly forgotten it. I told Frodo a little of it, and it almost seemed to me that it was just a story, just a fancy that I'd once had, long ago."

"It was real. I remember it. I remember you."

"And I remember you." Bilbo smiled. "It is good to see you at last, my friend." Rotoscoped and live-action hands clasped with friendly smiles. There was a general sigh of relief from the rest of the group.

"Our time draws nigh," Strider said with a smile.

"Oh my goodness, oh my goodness, this is all too much for me, I think I'm going to cry now, my goodness me, this is just too wonderful!" Greenleaf cried, leaping up with arms flailing. Boromir deftly stuck out a foot and tripped the Elf, and Merry and Pippin pinned him to the ground. Bilbo looked up from his conversation with Bigwig.

"What? What's wrong with your Elf there?" he asked. 

Bigwig told him the tale of the animated Fellowship's lengthy wait for a resolution to their story, of the boredom and madness that afflicted the members who stayed in their Middle Earth, and of the strange fates that had befallen those who had ventured to leave. "It is especially hard on Greenleaf," he said. "The galaxy far, far away was seductive, and he returned again and again until he found that it had all but claimed him. The Thing from that galaxy comes on him time and again, and he is powerless to stop it."

"Why, that's terrible," Bilbo said. "Can't you do anything about it?"

Mithrandir took a deep breath. "There is only one thing that can be done for him, Bilbo," he said. "He must find resolution here, as himself. Then and only then will he be able to separate himself from The Thing and remain the Elf we know."

"And you brought me here to -- ?" Bilbo asked incredulously.

"We need your help," Bigwig said. "Just as you helped me all those years ago in the world of sound. My companions are in dire need. I ask you this boon in the name of the friendship we shared then. Will you help them? Will you tell the end of the tale?"


	9. In Which Resolution Is Found

****

In Which Resolution Is Found For Some And Home Is Found For Others

Bilbo blinked in surprise. "Me? Tell all of you the end of the story?" he asked. "Why, don't you know it already?" 

Eyes, both rotoscoped and live-action, flickered back and forth. Finally, Mr. Underhill stepped forward. "I don't think any of us know the end, sir," he said. "We — that is to say, my group certainly has no idea, and I don't think they do, either," he finished, gesturing vaguely towards where Aragorn sat with Merry and Pippin. 

"We were in the middle of the story ourselves when we were summoned here," Aragorn confirmed. 

"Well," said Bilbo. "Well, well, well, you have got yourselves a problem, haven't you."

"It is driving us mad," Bigwig said softly. "Some of us, like poor Greenleaf, are almost completely gone, but even the staunchest of us will not hold out forever. Please, you must help us. I do not wish to watch my companions and friends descend completely into the chaos of our non-ending."

"Peace, friend," Bilbo said. "I have no intention of denying you your ending. Goodness knows, you've been waiting for it since, what? 1978, was it?"

"Yes, 1978, that accursed year."

"Well, then, you've been more than patient, and you shall have the ending you deserve," Bilbo declared. "But what of the others? What of Frodo and his party? They will live the whole story before this year is out, and I cannot spoil it for them now."

"It would seem to me," Aragorn said slowly, "that we have fulfilled our purpose here. We have made it possible for you to have your ending. I would ask that we be returned to our own world now, that we may continue with our story in its proper fashion."

"Right you are," Mithrandir said. "However, I do see one problem."

"What may that be?" Gandalf asked.

Mithrandir stroked his thick white beard in thought. "You are here now," he said. "But when I Summoned you, you had just come off of Caradhras. If I were to return you now, you would find yourselves once again in the gardens of Rivendell, and you would have to make your journey all over again. I would not inflict that upon you. Yet you cannot pass over our country without a guide, and there are none of my Company whom I would spare."

"We would not ask for such a sacrifice," Gandalf said. "But perhaps I can be of some help. I am, after all, still a Wizard here, and in my own world my power is that much greater. You, Mithrandir, could perform the spell of Returning from this garden. As soon as we are freed from the bonds of this world, I shall begin a spell of Traveling and thus return us through geography to our starting point."

"Yes," Mithrandir said slowly. "That would work. The timing of the two spells is delicate, and the utmost care must be taken so that you do not end up caught forever between worlds, but it is certainly possible."

Gandalf smiled. "I trust we would all be willing to bear the risk," he said, glancing back at his companions. All of the live-action Fellowship nodded.

"We must bear the risk," Aragorn said. "For if we do not, the alternative is to remain here in this world where we do not belong, and to me that seems the worse fate."

"Then it is decided," Gandalf declared. "Mithrandir will send us between worlds, and I will guide us to the gates of our Moria. But there is one last matter that must be settled ere we depart."

"Please, what matter is that?" Little Sam asked, bouncing up and down in his impatience to hear Bilbo's story.

"The Rings," Gandalf said. "They must be returned to their respective Bearers ere we part company."

"Now that could get tricky," Little Sam said. "Considerin' what happened the last time those orrible Rings got too close to each other."

"I think it could be done, though," Merry said thoughtfully. "Seems to me that the Rings don't set off that — what was it you called it?"

"Psychedelic aura," Mithrandir supplied.

"Right, that aura thing. They don't set it off unless they're about arm's length apart." Merry considered the problem. "So all we need to do is make sure the Rings are never close to each other. Now, if you stood over here," he said, tugging at Gandalf's sleeve, "and if Mithrandir stood at the other edge of the glade, Frodo and Mr. Underhill could get their Rings without ever having to get near each other."

"They would have to keep well apart afterwards," Mithrandir said, "but I believe this plan will work." The two wizards walked to the farthest corners of the little glade, and the rest of the Companies and Bilbo cleared out a berth between them. Frodo walked over to Mr. Underhill and held out his hand.

"I won't get a chance to say good-bye to you after we receive our Rings," he said. "So whatever we have to say, we should say it now."

Mr. Underhill looked solemnly at Frodo and took his hand. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you for agreeing to help us. It wasn't at all very polite of us, the way we came and Summoned you, without your say in the matter, but we were desperate. Thank you for seeing through that and for helping us all the same."

Frodo smiled. The two Hobbits clasped hands, then walked to the Wizards. Gandalf returned the rotoscoped Ring to Mr. Underhill, and Frodo received the live-action Ring from Mithrandir. Carefully, the Ring-bearers circled the perimeter of the glade, prudently keeping their distance from each other. Their respective Fellowships said their good-byes and clustered around them.

Mithrandir raised his arms dramatically. Gandalf rolled his eyes, but said nothing. Mithrandr began to chant. The words, thin and ethereal, floated away as soon as they were spoken, although several of Frodo's companions would swear later on that they had heard brand names from the 1970s among them. A rainbow-colored mist rose around them, and a wind picked up and began to howl. The last thing they saw was Greenleaf, shining through the mists, waving his arms and shrieking incoherently with joy before being tackled by Bigwig.

Now the voice of Gandalf took over from that of Mithrandir, chanting low and strong in a language that sounded vaguely Welsh but probably wasn't. Their bodies jerked forward and back, tumbled, rolled, slid, and came to rest in a snowbank halfway up a mountain.

Legolas poked his head up and looked around. "We are once again on Caradhras," he announced.

Gimli shook snow from his beard. "We should leave, then," he said. "I seem to remember that Caradhras did not appreciate our presence overmuch."

Slowly the Fellowship of the Ring picked themselves up and took inventory of clothes, gear, weapons and body parts. Everything seemed to be in order. They formed a ragged line and headed down the mountain again. They walked in silence, each digesting the experience they had just had.

"Well," Pippin said after a while. "That'll be something to put in old Bilbo's book."

"I'm glad he has them," Frodo said. "He always did love to tell the stories of his adventures, and they'll be the best audience he ever had."

Gandalf smiled. "Indeed. Come, my friends, hurry along. We must get off the mountain before dusk so that we may reach the next stage of our journey. With skill and luck, we will find the endings to our own tales along our way."

END

****

Afterword

Many thanks to all who have read and enjoyed this story. I enjoyed Artemis's suggestion that the United Companies embark upon a quest "fraught with peril, danger and bad animation," and had it been a year from now with "Return Of The King" safely leaving the theaters, I might well have done just that. There are indeed so many more fascinating avenues to explore in this theme — I'm thinking in particular of the Coincidence of the Gollums — but as my great-grandmother used to say, the best time to leave a party is when you're having the most fun.

The offer for a list of credits and references is still open, however, and if anyone was confused, now is the time to ask.

The response to this story has given me new food for thought regarding this website. There will be further experimentation, I think. In the meantime, this story isn't going anywhere, so, as the saying goes: "If you like it, tell your friends; if you don't, tell your enemies."


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